Burial

by Neil Cross

  She'll understand.'

  - I hope so.'

  Nathan gave her a brave soldier smile.

  , On his way home, he pulled into the kerb. From his pocket he fished out the now-limp freezer bag containing the balled-up vestiges of Elise's clothing. He examined it. They seemed such trivial scraps.

  What little evidence was on them had surely been destroyed by all those years in the soil.

  Now he was alone, and now Bob was gone, that seemed obvious.

  He thought about burning the rags somewhere. But that seemed an odd thing to risk being caught doing. So he got out of the car and lit a cigarette. He stood over a drain. He ripped open the bag and stooped down, stuffing the remnants between the rungs. Bits of rotten cloth clung to the wet metal. He eased them away with his fingertips.

  He poked down what was recognizably the toe shell of an Adidas trainer, perished and withered like a burst balloon.

  He didn't think anybody saw him, but didn't think it mattered.

  For all they could see, he might be looking for something: dropped keys, perhaps. He stuffed the rolled-up gloves down there, helping them with the tip of his pen. The ripped-apart freezer bag followed, and the remains of the Sainsbury's carrier too.

  That was it. All gone.

  He smoked the cigarette and dropped that down the drain. Then he got behind the wheel of the car, and put the radio on.

  38

  When Nathan arrived, Holly was sitting in the living room, in darkness.

  He

  stood in the doorway.

  She said, 'They found her.'

  He went to her. Kneeling, brushing the hair back from her face.

  He wanted to look at her.

  She did not want to look at him. She turned her head away.

  He withdrew, standing.

  He said, 'Will you call June and Graham?'

  'In the morning. Let them sleep. Just one more night.'

  He followed her to the kitchen.

  There was too much to explain.

  He said, 'We don't know it's her. Not yet.'

  It's her. You know it's her.'

  She frowned, knuckling a knot between her eyes. She said, 'You know.'

  'If you hadn't. If you hadn't lied, we might have been spared . . .'

  All this.

  Holly said, 'Every word. Every word you ever spoke. All of it.

  Based on a lie.'

  She lit one of his cigarettes. Her first for years.

  'How could I tell you?'

  'How could you not?'

  'Because I didn't want this to happen.'

  'Well, it's happening.'

  'I know. I'm sorry.'

  He searched for better words. But they'd passed into a territory where words had no function. So he just said, 'I'm sorry.'

  They sat at the table and talked in slow circles until morning.

  There was a dawn chorus. Sunrise through the condensation cast pearly drops on their skin.

  In the wan light, she went to stare at the photos ofElise. Then she came back into the kitchen to light another of his cigarettes. She ran her hands through her hair. It was frizzy and dry: it needed washing.

  Her lips were cracked.

  She said, 'I can't have you around me.'

  'Okay.'

  'You should never have lied. You should just never have lied.'

  'I know.'

  She grabbed his face. Her nails dug into his flesh. Her eyes fluoresced with hatred. And then her eyes welled with tears and she let him go.

  At 6.30, she rang her parents. There were long silences at either end of the line. There were no tears. It was like the mumbled declaration of illness. Finding Elise was almost a disappointment. Having her back would change their lives again. Already she was coming between them, breaking up the close unit they had formed.

  Holly was sad when she put down the phone. Something was found, something was lost.

  He could see into her. She was wondering if it was worth it, and hating herself for thinking that.

  Nathan had a headache. All that coffee and all those cigarettes.

  And no sleep. He was weary beyond measure.

  Holly poured herself a glass of water from the tap. She drank it.

  She looked at him, the empty glass in her hand. Her eyes were puffy and sore. She looked exhausted and old.

  She said, 'When I get home, you need to be gone.'

  He drew a long breath. He was so tired. He was almost glad.

  'Whatever you think is best.'

  She went upstairs and packed her bags. She wasn't very methodical about it. Later, he found the drawers still open: clothes ripped from them apparently at random. She left behind her favourite toiletries, her toothbrush, the book she was reading. She came downstairs lugging a big suitcase in two hands. It was the suitcase she'd taken on honeymoon.

  He stood in the hallway, leaning against the stairwell. He rubbed at his bristling jaw.

  He said it again: 'I'm sorry.'

  She couldn't answer. She looked at him, then hoisted the suitcase and headed for the door, leaning away from the weight of it. She stuffed the suitcase into the boot of her car. She sat at the wheel. She stayed there for a while, looking at her lap. He watched her from the window Then she started the engine and drove away.

  He thought of her, speeding past the empty grave, the trees that would soon be uprooted.

  Then he went inside their home. He went upstairs, to bed, and curled in a circle and slept. The bedclothes smelled of her.

  39

  It was the doorbell that woke him. Without it, he might have slept all knight.

  It was Jacki. He let her in. He was wearing the same clothes as the night before. He hadn't washed or shaved. He was in his socks.

  He said, 'Coffee?'

  She thanked him and followed him down the hallway and into the kitchen. He put the kettle on to boil. The water began to hiss.

  'I wanted to see how you were.'

  He shrugged and thought, How do I look? "Have you seen her?'

  'This afternoon,' said Jacki. 'She'll be all right. It's been a shock.

  just give her time.'

  She can have anything she wants.'

  Jacki crossed her arms and nodded, looking at the floor.

  He said, 'I should've listened to you. All those years ago.'

  What's done is done.'

  he took her coffee and blew across it, saying: 'My colleagues will need to ask more questions - as soon as you feel up to it.'

  He erupted into goose flesh. He hoped she didn't see. 'What kind of questions? Am I in trouble?'

  'Not at all. They'll just want the full picture. There's a bit of bruising around Mr Morrow's throat, for instance. They might want to ask about that.'

  'I had to drag him off the sofa. He was so heavy. I hooked my elbow round his neck - like this - and kind of dragged him off 'You see. I knew it would be something like that. It's what I told them.'

  'You already talked about it? Now you're making me nervous.'

  'There's nothing to be nervous about. You just have to think very carefully about what happened last night.'

  'Jesus, Jacki. You're freaking me out here.'

  'I don't mean to. It's just that, people get a shock, they get confused.'

  'I'm

  thinking pretty clearly.'

  'Are you thinking clearly about the second glass of whisky?'

  There was a moment. He blinked it away.

  'What?'

  'There were two glasses of whisky. The one Morrow was drinking from. And a second glass. Almost untouched. Very dilute. Lots of water in it. Lots and lots of water.'

  He had spat in it.

  Jacki was still waiting.

  'I poured myself a glass. After the paramedics arrived. To calm my nerves. Then I thought better of it.'

  Jacki nodded. She was not smiling.

  'There you are. You see? There's always an explanation. If you're given enough time to think. How are you sleep
ing?'

  'Fine. As well as can be expected. I mean, not so bad. Why do you ask?'

  'Holly tells me you haven't been sleeping well.'

  'Christ, Jacki. I've been stressed.'

  'Did you see a doctor about it?'

  'I did, as it happens.'

  'Good. And did he give you something to help?'

  'He did, yes.'

  'It wasn't temazepam, was it?'

  'It was, yes.' He waited. Counted three breaths. 'Why?'

  'Temazepam is what Bob Morrow used. A massive dose. The whisky amplified its effects.'

  'Ah,' said Nathan, scratching now at his inner wrist.

  'When did you see your doctor?'

  'I don't know. A few days ago.'

  'So you've still got the pills?'

  He tapped ash into the sink.

  'Actually, no I haven't. I never liked taking pills. I flushed them away, the minute I got home.'

  'I'd do the same. Horrible things.'

  'You can't sleep, it's better to just get through it.'

  'Totally. The thing is, you might want to have some temazepam around. You know. For form's sake. Just in case someone mentions it.'

  'Will they?'

  'Probably not.'

  He said, 'I'm not sure I'd know where to get some more, without ; going back to my doctor.'

  'I'm sure you'll find a way. You're not stupid.'

  Nathan tugged at an earlobe. 'I don't know what to say.'

  'As it happens, Morrow's got a history of drug abuse - and one or two suicide attempts, back when he was younger. He went a bit funny. When his mum died.'

  'I didn't know that.'

  'I don't suppose he liked to talk about it. He was seventeen.

  Difficult age to lose your mum.'

  Nathan nodded.

  'And the glass evidence, if it was evidence, was compromised. In all the rush, someone must have knocked it over. It got broken. It happens.'

  'It must.'

  'We're only human. So these things might not even come up. They probably won't.'

  Nathan wet his lips with the tip of his tongue.

  'Okay,' he said.

  Jacki set down her mug and began to gather her things. She patted her pockets, looking for car keys. Thus distracted, she said, 'Give her time.'

  'All the time she needs.'

  Jacki got her coat and checked its pockets for the keys. The coat jingled. There they were.

  Nathan said, 'You've always been a good friend to her.'

  'Well, I made her a promise.'

  She shrugged herself into her coat and said goodnight. She walked down the hallway, swinging the car keys from her index finger.

  40

  Six weeks later, Elise's remains were released. She was buried in the grounds of Sutton Down church, where Nathan and Holly had married.

  Some print journalists were there, but there were no cameras.

  When it was over, June hugged Nathan and kissed him. Graham clasped both his hands. There was a great distance between them.

  They had not spoken since the morning Holly left him. They didn't know what to say to each other.

  Most of the village seemed to be there, and many of Elise's school friends, older now. One of Elise's old boyfriends was there. He greeted Graham and June diffidently. At first they didn't recognize him. He had put on weight and lost hair. The sight of him made June cry. She touched his face.

  Nathan watched them.

  The mourners were drifting away. Nathan buttoned his coat and headed for the gates.

  There were brisk footsteps behind him.

  Holly.

  She took his elbow.

  He buried his hands deep in his pockets and turned to face her, saying, 'Hi.'

  'Hi.'

  She'd lost weight: she was thinner in the face. And she'd got her hair cut. It was much shorter now, and it shone red and autumnal in the ancient graveyard. She wore a black coat, black shoes. She carried a little black handbag, patent leather with a brushed-steel clasp.

  He looked at his own shoes, shiny black and said, 'How are you?'

  'I'm getting there. You?'

  'Getting by. Y'know.'

  'How's work ?'

  'Same old, same old. Justin's wife left him.'

  Holly grinned.

  'How's he taking it?'

  'He's fine. Suddenly we've got a lot to talk about. That makes him happy.' He scratched his chin, considering it, then told her, 'We came up with a new line.'

  'That's good.'

  'We're calling it "Congratulations, You Left Him at Last". Until we can think of something better. The trade's gone mad for it. If it sells like we think it will, we might actually make our bonus this year.'

  When he talked about work, she got a little upward turn at the inner corner of her eyebrows. And there it was, right now.

  He said, 'People leave people all the time. The trade might as well get to grips with it.'

  They stood on the grass verge to let some mourners pass by.

  Nobody knew what to say to anybody.

  That knot between Holly's eyes.

  She said, 'You knew.'

  He kicked at a wet tussock.

  'Knew what?'

  'That it was him.'

  He shifted his weight. Looked at the sky and drew in a long breath. 'It did occur to me, yeah.'

  'Why didn't you tell me?'

  'How could I ?'

  She narrowed her eyes.

  Nathan said, 'I like your hair.'

  She touched it. 'It was time for a change. I kept it the same for too long.'

  He tugged at a lock of his own hair, just behind the temple. 'I looked in the mirror this morning. I'm going grey.'

  'You've been going grey for a long time.'

  He took a step back

  'Why didn't you tell me?'

  'How could I ?'

  He laughed, sudden and hard; it shocked a murder of crows from the bare trees. They launched into the low sky and described a slow, outraged spiral.

  He said, 'You always made me laugh.'

  She leaned on a grave. It was eight hundred years old, worn smooth with time.

  She said, 'I have something else to tell you.'

  Six months later, their daughter was born.

  Nathan held her, still bloody, and looked into her black eyes. He put his nose to the warm suede of her scalp. He breathed in the rich, fungal smell of her and had to sit for the headiness of it. She held his finger and he wept. He cradled her. He passed her to her mother, who bundled her in a crocheted blanket.

  He stood at the bedside, looking on.

  Bob didn't die. But his brain had been starved of oxygen; it lost its higher functions. Bob was in a persistent vegetative state. The vehicle of his consciousness had been destroyed.

  Bob's library was put into storage. The reels of tape were examined and found to contain nothing but Bob's voice, asking questions to an empty room.

  Information retrieved from the hard drives of his computers included the first fifty pages of a PhD thesis that had been discontinued in 1988, when the university rejected his proposal.

  1988 was five years before Bob met Nathan, in the days when Nathan lived in the shared house at the end of Maple Road.

  Nathan visited him sometimes. He never told Holly. He'd drive all the way to the hospital and sit at the bedside and just look at him.

  Sometimes Bob made noises. He howled or whooped or snarled. And sometimes he opened his mouth or tried to roll over. Sometimes he opened his sightless eyes. Nathan watched them spin in the sockets.

  But whatever had made this body Bob was gone.

  Nathan wondered.

  Once, he brought along a tape recorder. He set it down and let it record the stillness next to Bob's bed. He played the tape several times. But he never heard Bob's voice, or any other. There was just the hiss of silence and the random, distant clattering of the hospital.

  He threw the tape away. From beneath the spare tyre in the boot of h
is car, he removed the reel-to-reel tape he'd taken from Bob's flat.

  He thought about playing it. But he knew it would be blank. So he unspooled the tape, cut it up with a pair of scissors and burned it.

  Then he went inside, to his wife and his daughter.

  The End.

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  Neil Cross

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